A Better Fate than Wisdom I: The Syntax of Things
by Arrisha
Summary: Harry continued glaring over at the pensieve, shock stricken and absolutely still, and Snape followed his stare to the desk. His voice was a dangerous whisper when he talked, barely audible. "How much?" He looked aghast; his lips were shaking, his face was white; his teeth bared. "How much did you see, Potter?" "Everything," spat Harry. SSHP Slash.
1. Prologue

**A/N: A few months ago, I read an article on Mugglenet about Snape's worst memory. This is the paragraph which inspired me to write this story:**

_"The memory that Harry saw isn't the only memory Snape placed in the Pensieve; Rowling says that Snape had placed several memories in there (OotP 533). And I would argue that those memories are none other than The Prince's Tale. "_

**Disclaimer:** In order for this story to be written properly, I had to begin with some excerpts from the OotP. Those are not mine. Whatever else belongs to Rowling isn't mine either.

This is a slash story. The title comes from a poem by E. E. Cummings: "...and kisses are a better fate than wisdom. we are for each other: then laugh, leaning back in my arms..."

* * *

"Who wants to see me take off Snivelly's pants?" asked James.

The small crowd cheered again, and with a swish of James' wand Snape's pants flew up to his knobby knees, leaving him exposed and swearing as he tried to cover himself with his hands.

Lupin looked up at that, his face flushed with the same red that was spread over Snape's cheeks too, and he quickly shoved his book into his bag. He stood up, heading to the castle.

"Where are you going, Moony?" asked Sirius, still laughing.

Lupin muttered an excuse Harry failed to hear, and as Snape fell to the ground again, struggling to pull his robes around him and get his pants up, the memories swirled.

Harry seemed to fly through shifting shapes and colors until his surroundings solidified and he stood on a hilltop, the wind whistling through the branches of a few leafless trees. The adult Snape was panting, dropped to his knees in front of Dumbledore.

"I—I come with a warning—no, a request—please—"

"What request could a Death Eater make of me?"

"The—the prophecy . . . the prediction . . . Trelawney . . . "

"Ah, yes," said Dumbledore. "How much did you relay to Lord Voldemort?"

"Everything—everything I heard!" said Snape. "That is why—it is for that reason—he thinks it means Lily Evans!"

"The prophecy did not refer to a woman," said Dumbledore. "It spoke of a boy born at the end of July—"

"You know what I mean! He thinks it means her son, he is going to hunt her down—kill them all—"

"If she means so much to you," said Dumbledore, "surely Lord Voldemort will spare her? Could you not ask for mercy for the mother, in exchange for the son?"

"I have—I have asked him—"

"You disgust me," said Dumbledore, and Harry had never heard so much contempt in his voice. Snape seemed to shrink a little, "You do not care, then, about the deaths of her husband and child? They can die, as long as you have what you want?" Snape said nothing, but merely looked up at Dumbledore.

"Hide them all, then," he croaked. "Keep her—them—safe. Please."

The hilltop faded, and Harry stood in Dumbledore's office, and something was making a terrible sound, like a wounded animal.

Snape was slumped forward in a chair and Dumbledore was standing over him, looking grim.

"Her son lives. He has her eyes, precisely her eyes. You remember the shape and color of Lily Evans's eyes, I am sure?"

"DON'T!" bellowed Snape. "Gone… dead…"

"Is this remorse, Severus?"

"I wish... I wish I were dead..."

"And what use would that be to anyone?" said Dumbledore coldly. "If you loved Lily Evans, if you truly loved her, then your way forward is clear."

Snape seemed to peer through a haze of pain, and Dumbledore's words appeared to take a long time to reach him.

"What—what do you mean?"

"You know how and why she died. Make sure it was not in vain. Help me protect Lily's son."

"He does not need protection. The Dark Lord has gone—"

"The Dark Lord will return, and Harry Potter will be in terrible danger when he does."

There was a long pause, and slowly Snape regained control of himself, mastered his own breathing. At last he said, "Very well. Very well. But never—never tell, Dumbledore! This must be between us! Swear it! I cannot bear . . . especially Potter's son . . . I want your word!"

"My word, Severus, that I shall never reveal the best of you?" Dumbledore sighed, looking down into Snape's ferocious, anguished face. "If you insist . . . "

Harry swirled and felt himself rising into the air; office walls evaporated around him; he quickly floated upwards through icy blackness and then, with a swooping feeling as though he had turned head-over-heels in midair, his feet hit the stone floor of Snape's dungeon besides Snape's desk.

Almost unconsciously, he took several steps back until his back crashed to the wall across the desk. He kept looking at the pensieve as though everything he had just seen was going to jump out of it and screen itself in the middle of the room, alive and vivid.

The door opened and Snape stormed in, scoffing at Harry's presence. "I thought I told you your lessons reached their end for this evening, Mister Potter. Now kindly get out."

When Harry didn't answer, Snape opened his mouth as though to taunt him with some sarcastic comment, but didn't. Harry continued glaring over at the pensieve, shock stricken and absolutely still, and Snape followed his stare to his desk.

His voice was a dangerous whisper when he talked, barely audible. "How much?" He looked aghast; his lips were shaking, his face was white; his teeth bared. "How much did you see?"

Harry swallowed, feeling his own legs shaking slightly. "What was the Prophecy about?"

Snape launched himself on Harry and grasped his arm, shaking him savagely. "HOW MUCH DID YOU SEE, POTTER?"

"ANSWER ME!" screamed Harry back, trying to free his arm. "IT WAS YOUR FAULT VOLDEMORT KILLED MY PARENTS, WASN'T IT?" His heart was beating fast and something dark filled his chest, making it difficult for him to breath.

Snape shook Harry harder, so wild that his glasses slipped down his nose. His other hand grabbed on his neck and squeezed, throwing him away with such force that Harry fell hard on the dungeon floor and yelped.

"HOW MUCH DID YOU SEE?" Snape repeated for the third time, his eyes glistening with a madness Harry had never seen before.

"Everything," spat Harry. "You led Voldemort to my parents, and he found them because of you. You were friends with my mother and you betrayed her, and now you think you have the right to get into my life and protect me, as if I asked you to! I DON'T NEED YOUR PROTECTION, SNAPE! YOU KILLED THEM!"

Snape run up to him again and Harry got to his feet and as far from Snape as he could. Apparently though, Snape was faster and grabbed Harry by the shirt again, pushing him to the wall. His lips were trembling and his expression was beyond sense, tensed in an inhuman, terrifying way.

"Not. Another. Word."

But Harry needed answers. "What did you tell to Voldemort? There's a prophecy about me, isn't it?"

Was this what Voldemort was planning to use against him this time? Was his fate already written, waiting for him to fulfill it?

Snape's hand reached up to his neck and squeezed painfully, and Harry hoped that his madness would subside soon, as he had already trouble breathing. Eventually Snape threw him to the door and Harry crashed to it, too numb from the previous shock to feel the pain.

"Voice your questions to the Headmaster, Potter, if you must, but you will not speak of what you saw to anyone else! Do you understand?" Snape was still panting, achingly frowning.

Another tremendous question rose up to Harry's mind and he couldn't keep it back. Snape was in love with his Mum? Did they have an affair before she married his dad?

"What about you and – "

"SHUT IT!" Snape pointed his wand at him and pressed his lips together as if holding back a nasty curse. "NOW GET OUT – and don't you dare step foot in this office ever again!"

And as Harry wrenched the door open, a jar of dead cockroaches exploded over his head. He flew along the corridor, stopping only when he had put three floors between himself and Snape. There he leaned against the wall, trembling, and rubbing his throat.

He had no desire at all to return to Gryffindor Tower so early, nor to tell Ron and Hermione what he had just seen. What was making Harry feel so horrified was not being shouted at or having jars thrown at him; it was that he knew that Dumbledore was keeping a very important secret from Harry, and that he was working with Snape behind Harry's back all these years, instead of trusting directly him.

Furthermore, Dumbledore wouldn't even talk to Harry anymore, and was hiding from him since the school year started. Was Harry going to be killed by Voldemort? Was that the reason Dumbledore was avoiding him? Images of Snape begging Dumbledore to save Lily filled his head, and he hoped with all his might that his Mum didn't have a relationship with him, ever. Snape would have happily offered Harry to Voldemort to save his Mum, as if the lives of people were tradable, and could be exchangeable.

The man had been a Death Eater after all, and wouldn't mind killing as many people as he should in order for him to take what he wanted. His stomach billowing and with a really bad headache on the way, Harry run towards the Gargoyle.

He let his bag drop off his shoulders and shouted, "Sherbet lemon!"

Nothing happened.

He tried again. "Acid pops. Toffee Éclair. Cockroach clusters." His throat ached in a threating way and he forced a neutral expression to his face, convincing himself that he wasn't close to tears.

"Fizzing Whizbee. Gryffindor. Chocolate cookies!" He banged his fist on the stone and shouted, beyond control. "WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS?"

When he was met with nothing but the silence of the empty corridor, he grabbed his bag and left, a black hole nesting inside his soul where his trust for Dumbledore used to be.

"Fuck you," he muttered.

* * *

"The connection Potter has with the Dark Lord's mind, how strong is it?" demanded Severus as soon as he wrenched open the door to Dumbledore's office.

Dumbledore stroked his beard, thinking. "Its source and strength is not fully known, I am afraid. As long as Voldemort remains unaware of it the boy remains safe; I cannot imagine the dreadful ways of manipulation he might think of once he knows."

Severus still panted heavily, his hand twitching around his wand. As soon as Dumbledore noticed it, he furrowed his eyebrows. "I can't help but... wonder if your question – you see, a particular breakdown occurred out of my office half an hour ago, so I wonder, if it happens to have anything to do with it."

Severus collapsed on a chair and rested his forehead on his hand. "I left your brilliant Golden Boy alone in my office for ten fucking minutes, Headmaster, and with a fascinating lack of civility or rudimental qualms he stuck his nose into my memories. He – knows. Everything."

Dumbledore sat back on his chair, breathing silently. Severus let out a hoarse laughter, and shook his head dismissingly at Dumbledore's questioning face. "I'm dead, am I not?"

"It is not sure that Voldemort will desire to dig a way to Harry's mind - this is only a concern of mine, Severus, for my own reasons. Even if he becomes aware of it, it'll take time for him to explore the full extention of their mental connection. I assure you that the Order will do its best to protect you, should your cover be revealed." Dumbledore said.

"Bullocks."

"Severus."

"Severus what?" he sneered. "Potter's arrogance and shallowness will lead me to my torturous death, and next thing you'll witness will be him dancing around my grave. Do you think the Dark Lord is going to be interested in, I don't know, perhaps a casual conversation once he sees me kneeling before you and swearing loyalty? Do tell me, please."

Dumbledore nodded in agreement. "This information shouldn't have slipped to Harry, indeed – shouldn't have slipped to Harry at all. Are you sure he saw everything?"

"Yes," Severus hissed, deranged at the fact. "I threw him out my office and told him to never appear nearby me again. And I do assure you, if it were not for your foolish fondness of the boy, he would have been expelled from my class too."

At that Dumbledore's lips parted and he rose a finger as if to make a point about how he was absolutely right to adore Potter, but then seemed to focus on something entirely different. "Still. I am afraid the Occlumency lessons cannot stop, Severus, for your own good as well after all. We cannot leave Harry's mind vulnerable to possible future attacks, and it's obvious that he doesn't know how to protect himself under external mental pressures. You must teach him."

"I must not," spat Severus, "and will not. Forgive me, Headmaster, but this is beyond my dignity. Potter has shown a defiant disrespect to my privacy, and is constantly starving for information about his parents' lives. I will not sit there and have him ask questions I do not wish to answer, let alone give him the opportunity to mock me behind my back with his friends while I risk my life every day for him!" With that, he stood up and turned around, his cloak billowing behind him as he walked towards the door.

"Do it for Lily, Severus," Dumbledore said in a low tone behind Severus's back, and Severus hated him for it, knowing perfectly well how the man always manipulated him into his plans, using his pain and regret to force him follow with a bowed head.

Ignoring the Headmaster's order which was politely dressed up as a plea, he strode down to the cold dark dungeons, and at long last he locked himself into the safety of his rooms.

* * *

Harry looked over at Dumbledore, whose cheeks bloated around a large spoonful of milk and cheerios. As soon as he swallowed, he turned to Professor McGonagall and prattled humoredly, a smile spreading underneath his white beard.

"He must have a reason, Harry, I'm sure of it," said Hermione.

"Blimey, Hermione, what kind of reason would make Dumbledore treat Harry like that? That's a very evil thing to do, if you ask me," argued Ron.

"Maybe," Hermione lowered her voice, "Maybe these memories were fake, and that's why Professor Snape kept them in the pesnieve during his practice with Harry - so in case of an unexpected accident they wouldn't blend in with his own. They could be part of some plan to mislead You-Know-Who. Don't you think at all, Ron?"

"Why mislead him into thinking that he's a traitor, 'Mione?"

And that was the first time Ron had said something so surprisingly obvious that even Hermione didn't have an answer. Harry poked at his breakfast again, his stomach feeling full although he had barely eaten a bite. The sight of food seemed of no interest to him, and he wished for the tenth time this week that he had never told his friends about the incident with Snape's memories.

Although he appreciated their efforts to help, their concern was just another burden. Plus, it was obvious that with zero evidence they weren't getting anywhere. He carefully avoided sharing with them the fact that Snape was friends with his mum, as well as his confession that he loved her. It wasn't really important to tell them that Snape had sworn to Dumbledore to protect him either, and somehow he felt like this information shouldn't be shared yet.

So, after he banged on the Headmaster's door for about an hour and no one ever replied, exactly as he had guessed that it would happen, he found himself cross – legged in the Gryffindor common room repeating everything he had heard about that prophecy to Ron and Hermione.

Both of them had looked surprised, but it was Hermione who made the best assumption.

"Maybe the prophecy doesn't foresee that you die, but that you kill him," she told him. "And that's why he searched for you when you were an infant – he decided to kill you so he would be freed from the constant fear of a deadly enemy once and for all."

Only that this didn't make things better, and it would only mean that Harry should have to kill him first if he wanted to survive. His fate was connected with Voldemort's, and recalling the many objections he was met with when he had requested to join the Order, he came to the conclusion that he was one of the few who didn't know anything about this prophecy. And as it seemed, Harry would have to fight Voldemort at some point of his life – a fact which no one thought important enough to discuss with him. Exhaling into his plate for a last time, he swung his backpack up onto his shoulders as at the same time the other students begun standing up to head to their classes.

This time Dumbledore wouldn't get away. He'd been avoiding him for too much time for it to be normal. Dumbledore was the only adult Harry would trust with his life while he was at Hogwarts. He walked past his friends in a hurry and run to the high table the moment Dumbledore was just leaving from the stuff door just behind it. Snape gave him a filthy look as Harry followed towards the door, and with a push he found himself to a long dark hallway which the students didn't use often– and which was absolutely empty.

Harry stopped. He felt his eyes burning and once again his temper seemed to dominate the best of him; something was going wrong and no one was feeling like telling him what that was. Was he dying already, and they didn't want him to know? Dread pulsated up to his face and he felt his cheeks heating up, unable to control his anger any longer.

He had the right to know what happened to his parents, and even more what was going to happen to himself. Dumbledore had lied to Harry about everything – he kept Snape in the school and let him teach the students even though he was responsible for his parents' death, and even though he would sacrifice Harry's and his Dad's life for the sake of his Mum's. That was how twisted the man was, and yet here he was, leering into Harry's mind once a week with the Headmaster's absolute consent. It wasn't likely that Harry was ever going to speak to Snape again, even if the man hadn't thrown him out of his office.

He didn't want people to protect him like he was a child. He didn't need Snape – of all people – to look after him and help him behind his back as though he was incapable of protecting himself on his own. He survived far too much on his own to be considered immature or reckless, and this treatment was the last thing he deserved. What he needed was someone to tell him the truth and let him face it like a grown up instead of plotting and organizing his life without even asking him his opinion about it. Disappointed, he took the path for his class.

Maybe the visions would show him more about it.

* * *

**A/N: So, that was the first chapter. Please let me know what you think about it.**


	2. Priorities

**Author's Notes: Thank you all for your lovely feedback! I promise that I will reply to all of you when I find time. I hope you enjoy this chapter, although it is going to be the smallest chapter of this story. The next chapters are going to be lengthier, so I will regard this one as a starter. Also, many thanks to Aubrey'Snape who helped me with some grammar mistakes. All comments, suggestions, and criticisms are welcome. **

* * *

Chapter 1: Priorities

_June 1996_

"You didn't show up yesterday," commented Dumbledore when Severus placed the pile of marked O.W.L.S. on top of the Headmaster's office desk. Severus scrunched his face and reached into his pocket to take out a folded piece of paper. The last thing he needed was to attend a stuff meeting in Black's honor, and witness pitiful people wallow all over a dog's death.

"I was busy, Headmaster. This is a list with the names of the students who failed to pass their examinations in Potions this year. Miss Johnson has been defiantly ignoring my warnings about her poor progress in my class since the beginning of the term, and I have yet to receive a decent excuse for her consecutive absences. I've sent a letter to her parents an hour ago."

Dumbledore opened a drawer and revealed a closed envelope with the name _Severus Snape _on it. _At last_, thought Severus.

Dumbledore wrote the date on the envelope and signed it. "Sirius was a kind man and a loyal friend, Severus. Don't let an old hatred poison your heart over his death."

"Oh please, Headmaster, spare me the speech. Now, if you please." He extended his hand waiting for the envelope.

He knew he looked impatient, but he was waiting for this particular end of term with obsessive longing; dealing with uninterested students, suspicious colleagues, and a Potter who was picking into his past while refusing to learn the basics in order to protect his own flesh, hadn't been exactly a pleasure. The Dark Lord was back and the summer would withhold not–so–delightful meetings. He had to mentally prepare himself for that task and relax in the few days of peace the summer vacations were offering him.

Still, on the other hand, this school year had brought along some enjoyable surprises as well. Black took what he deserved, the Minister eventually showed some dim traces of intelligence, and Dumbledore seemed to be on the right way hunting what he believed to be Horcruxes.

Severus had asked him multiple times to let him follow and help him, but Dumbledore had insisted that this was a job he had to do alone. Severus wasn't fooled; Dumbledore trusted him to spy on Voldemort and risk his own life for the greater good, but wouldn't share with him any crucial information when it came to it.

Dumbledore handed him over the envelope. "Here you are, Severus, two salaries and a bonus for your private lessons with Harry. In Muggle money, as you required."

Severus's lip quirked in annoyance and pierced him with his eyes._ Some of us will have to actually spend our livelihood to the last penny in order to live, _he almost responded. Instead, he nodded politely and thanked the Headmaster.

Who smiled back happily and raised his hand. "Ah, not so quick, Severus. There is something else I wanted to discuss with you. You'd better sit."

And when Dumbledore begun a conversation with these words, Severus knew he was going to go berserk, and probably be forced into something he wouldn't like in the slightest. He sat on a chair and grit his teeth in tension which he felt that would soon be very much justified.

Dumbledore toyed with his wand for a few seconds, as if seeing it for the first time in his life.

"Harry should be moved somewhere safer, after what happened. Sirius was planning to take custody of him once the misunderstanding with the Ministry was resolved, but fate played a mean card on the boy, as you know."

Severus blinked.

"The wards on his house are strong and I have my reasons to believe that Voldemort will not try to attack him in Surrey, but it is not his physical safety I am worried about. Voldemort knows about their mental connection, and since he has already used it once we have no reason to believe that he won't do it again. The boy has been having visions, Severus. You are aware of it. In his dreams, he can see through Voldemort's eyes."

Severus felt a chill running down his spine. "I am aware of it, Headmaster. It's phenomenal."

"And this is why he needs to learn to build solid walls around his mind. You do understand that, should a small leak of where your true devotion lies make its way to the other end of this thread, Voldemort would want you out of the way, right?"

Of course he knew. The idea of death wasn't strange to him; there is a limit on how much pain and despair one can witness and cause, and how much fear then can experience upon it. These limits were long ago broken for him, and the constant awareness of the dangers around him was as familiar as waking up in the morning.

He only wished that when the time came, he would leave the world having offered his best to this war, and having done his best to protect Lily's child. Her son was the only – small and yet real, alive — trace of her soul left behind, and nothing mattered more, nothing was more crucial or essential than Potter's survival.

As though reading his mind, Dumbledore continued. "This is why it is important for Harry to take Occlumency lessons over the summer. I do need you alive, as you understand."

"WHAT!" Severus stood up.

"I know this is too much of me to ask, Severus, but – "

"You're damn well right, Headmaster, that's too much! Why on earth should I waste my summer interacting with _him_? Wasn't enough that he drove me crazy over the past months?" He had sinned. Many times. But he didn't deserve this.

"Because it's the only way, I am afraid," Dumbledore said calmly.

"ABSOLUTELY NOT! What is your impressive plan this time, Headmaster? Do you want me to travel daily to Surrey and suffer Potter's _and_ Petunia's insufferable company, and for how long, exactly? How many hours per day do you want me to sacrifice for this farce, pray tell?"

"Ah. And here's the good news!"

And Severus was ready to give a leg and a kidney if the news were actually good.

"No magic can be done in his home, since the Ministry would happily report it either as underage magic or as secret war training motivated by me, and we would all be in an unnecessary fuss. That's why Harry's going to stay with you."

Severus felt the blood drain from his body and go straight up to a vein above his eye. A spasm followed, causing red spots pass through his vision, and his heart jumped before giving him the impression that it was being split in two. The eye below the vein was threatening to swell, perhaps in an attempt to pop out. His lungs compressed in a way he had only seen described in health magazines: he was having a heart attack.

"YOU – NO ALBUS, YOU –" and he burst to a maniac laughter that lasted less than three seconds before going back to being angry, and that was also probably the last laughter of his life since he was dying. "YOU WON'T MAKE ME DO THIS. YOU WILL NOT."

Dumbledore remained as cheerful as always, and he even seemed to be enjoying Severus' outburst. "Now, now, Severus my boy, you're overreacting. You're working with children half your life; I'm sure both of you will manage to get along for two months."

"Sixty days," Severus pointed out sharply. Dumbledore opened his mouth but he stopped him.

"Has it crossed your brilliant mind, Headmaster that I do not wish his pity – or even worse, his curiosity – burdening me during the precious moments of peace I am given to over the vacation? My privacy has already been disrespected and completely ignored. Potter has a wonderful home of his own to stay, and I am sure he will manage to survive until September as we always did. I am not his parent, nor his friend, and I will NOT have him in my house!"

"I would teach him myself, Severus, but you know the priorities."

_Horcruxes._ So Dumbledore was going on an adventure in Europe and in the meantime Severus would have to babysit James Potter's spitting image of a son.

Severus sat back down and rubbed away from his temples an upcoming migraine. It was one of those times he had not really have a choice, and yet he was being expected to agree before his doom came. He wanted to say no, to decline and run away with his money as fast as he could, pointing his middle finger to Dumbledore, to Potter, and to Voldemort too.

The problem was that all of them would follow him around like puppies until he did as commanded. And if he didn't, the puppies would transform to three – headed dogs. With poisoning fags. And a dragon tail.

"Do you know what kinds of people visit my home usually? Death Eaters. Madmen. Ministry workers, all of whom happen to be both Death Eaters and madmen."

And prostitutes. If he had one chance per year to get laid, he'd very much prefer not to lose it in teaching Potter Occlumency.

"I'm sure you will find a way, Severus. He won't be a problem to you, I can guarantee that."

"He will be asking questions, Dumbledore. Questions I do not wish to answer. What have I ever done that gave you the impression that I enjoy the company of children?"

Dumbledore's eyes sparkled. "Only he's not a child anymore, Severus. This little cooperation of yours could turn out be for the best. Do try and see him for who he really is, my boy. You might be surprised."

_Fuck you._

Severus nodded in defeat as he strode towards the door. "I'm not doing this for you, Dumbledore."

Dumbledore chuckled. "Thank Merlin you're not, my boy."

* * *

**Author's Notes: Please review. **


	3. Settling In

Author's Notes:

A kind reviewer raised a question I wanted to address in public: I was told that it would not make sense for Snape to roof Harry, because that would destroy his cover and Voldemort would kill them both. The reviewer also suggested that Grimmauld Place would be a better place for this.

So, as you have seen, this story takes place after book 5, which means that many people are planning to visit Snape's home at some point (we all remember Narcissa and Bellatrix, and it would be possible as well that other Death Eaters had visited too.)

I decided that, in a time period when Snape is being watched by Voldemort and is also expected to be in his home and nowhere else, it would be highly suspicious to just disappear from Spinner's End and go live elsewhere. Voldemort would demand to know where he was going, whom he has meeting, etc. Hiding Harry and having strong protection spells around his house would make more sense.

Besides, even though Harry doesn't know it yet, Snape has put a charm on him and no one can actually notice his presence when they're outside.

That said, I hope you enjoy this chapter - and thank you all for your reviews!

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Chapter Two: Settling In

Harry packed his belongings into his trunk, careful to not unfold many of his clothes while doing so. Hermione had just finished folding them for him, and she was pretty annoyed by having done so, commenting that both Harry and Ron's knowledge of how to carefully tuck clothes was absolutely unacceptable.

She decided to help them do it better, although Harry suspected she was only doing it to keep a close eye to Harry.

"You will write to me over the summer, okay?" she asked, wariness not quite hidden from her face. "You can even call me if you'd like to; I believe I have given you my telephone number ages ago."

"Thanks Hermione, I'm going to be fine," Harry said, shoving a pile of socks into his trunk.

"Harry, no!" she shouted. "Put the unwashed clothes in another bag and then into your trunk, otherwise the rest of your clothes will be dirtied too."

Hermione made a move as to grab the shocks off his hand, but then frowned as if changing her mind and used her wand instead.

"Woah, Hermione, that's brilliant. Did you think of it on your own?" asked Ron, throwing out of his trunk the unwashed, and wrinkled clothing so they could be put in another bag. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Harry, I could take the train someday if you'd like. We could meet up in Surrey, I don't know, for a walk. My parents might let me," Ron eyed her furrowing his eyebrows, a disturbed look on his face.

"And of course Ron could come too, you know," she added and Ron relaxed.

_Yes, I'd like that, _thought Harry. _Only I can't, and you're only saying it because you think Sirius' death made me mentally unstable. _

He couldn't stand anymore people talking about Sirius, or treating him like _that._ He didn't want to discuss it. He didn't want to even think about it, and he was tired of playing over and over again inside his head the hopes and dreams he had let himself develop before Sirius' death.

It was foolish of him to believe that he could eventually have a family, whomever he met and loved was immediately put in danger. He should have known better than to hope for the family he never had.

Until Dumbledore had called him into his office, finally telling Harry the truth, explaining about the Prophecy in Snape's memories and the reason for Voldemort's attack on Harry, he had been convinced that Sirius' death was his fault. Then Dumbledore talked to him calmly, openly, like the old days, in a way that was too familiar to Harry, without Dumbledore avoiding him anymore. And like that, he explained to him everything.

"It is time," Dumbledore said, "for me to tell you what I should have told you years ago, Harry." And Harry's heart pounded in his chest as he listened through it all. When Dumbledore was finished, and Harry had shattered to pieces half Dumbledore's belongings, Dumbledore had said:

"This summer, Harry, I cannot let you return to your family. It is important for you to be trained to defeat whoever might try to use your mind again. You will stay with Professor Snape, and this time you will take your Occlumency lessons seriously.

After another emotional explosion, and when Harry had nothing else in his reach to break or shatter, and his voice was hoarse from shouting, he accepted this new horrible fate and left.

He didn't manage to tell his friends though, and Dumbledore agreed that keeping it a secret would be the wisest thing to do. And although he would have ignored Dumbledore's wishes and would have informed Ron and Hermione right away, somehow it was beyond embarrassing to announce that he would spend his summer with Snape.

Their worries would only triple – the man was an Ex-Death Eater – and certainly not a nice person, or someone trustworthy. No, Ron and Hermione would only be unbearably concerned about the Headmaster's decision.

They were worrying about him too much already, Harry decided. They deserved a summer away from Harry's troubles, and thinking about how Harry would be mistreated or abused by the snarky Severus Snape would be the worst thing he could burden them with. If everything went well, he would tell them on September. If it didn't…

"So, why are you not taking the train, mate?" asked Ron, holding up into the air a pair of orange underpants.

"Christ!" Hermione turned her back to Ron and fiercely begun collecting Harry's textbooks.

"I'll leave a couple of hours later. Dumbledore wants me to stay some more, to tell me a few things in private, you know, and stuff." He tossed Hermione a sweater and she gave him a lethal look.

"That's nice, you can visit Hogsmeade alone then! Have you seen that girl living near the Three Broomsticks? The one with blond hair? I've heard you can ask her the craziest things."

Excitement lit up in Harry's eyes and he grinned. "Such as?"

Hermione wiped the sweat off her forehead and stood up. "Unfortunately Ron, Harry does not care at all about what kind of crazy things that girl does," Harry mouthed behind her back _I do,_ "and he knows perfectly well how stupid it would be to go alone to Hogsmeade. Am I right, Harry?"

"Absolutely," he assured her.

With that problem solved, Hermione left to change for the feast. The moment the sound of her steps faded, Harry made Ron tell him everything about that girl.

* * *

They met again outside of the Fat Lady's portrait, and ran down the stairs to the Great Hall. The food was delicious, and Harry tried to eat as much as possible, until his stomach felt ready to explode. If the Dursley's denied him food for two or three days in a row, he didn't dare to imagine what Snape would do to him. He'd better eat a good last meal in Hogwarts before he was thrown into starvation for good.

Anxiously, he wondered what kind of place Snape lived in, and images of dark castles with spiders, ghosts and bats filled his mind. Another image popped up, sadly more realistic, which had Harry locked up in just another cupboard, and the deal to be let out would be to memorize and repeat an entire volume in Advanced Potions. He grimaced at his food.

"It's not poisoned, not this time at least." Luna pointed at his plate. "Sometimes though, the Headmaster puts funny things into the meals to test our behavior. Did you know?"

Harry shook his head. "It's okay Luna, thanks. I already ate too much, I think."

She shrugged her shoulders and kept eating. Harry snorted to himself.

What if Snape had plans to torture him for real this time? The man always hated him and that was his only chance to act under Dumbledore's nose. Yet, there were still questions to be answered, and if Snape and his Mum were dating in the past he wasn't really sure that he wanted to know about it.

"Mister Potter, a word."

Startled, Harry jumped up from his seat to see Snape standing just behind him, glaring down his large nose. Snape strode off the Hall, and after Ron gave Harry a sympathetic look, Harry followed.

Snape stopped at the stairs outside and spoke coldly. "We are leaving tomorrow at two o'clock, so have your things ready and don't even think of being late, for I will not accept any of your poor excuses." His eyes promised death. "You are expected to wait for me outside the Headmaster's office alone. If anyone asks – "

"I know, I'm not stupid," interrupted Harry.

"Ten points from Gryffindor for your insolence. I trust that the final total of House points hasn't been announced yet."

Snape looked like he hated his life at the moment. His brows were furrowed in a gloomy expression, and he was staring right through Harry's eyes.

"Now, do you have any belongings at your relatives' home that you wish to have with you over the summer, Potter?"

Harry shook his head, but Snape didn't seem to believe him.

"Then think again, because I do not plan to Apparate around with an imbecile boy clutched on my back every time you're reminded of something that you need. You are being given the chance to visit Surrey tomorrow before we continue on to my house, and that's it. Do not expect me to bother again until September, even if what you forgot over is your own head."

Harry swallowed the bile that had stuck in his throat and grit his teeth. "No need to worry, sir. All my belongings are already into my trunk and can't wait to be moved to your place."

Harry knew that Snape was repulsed by that fact as much as he was. Snape quirked his lips in disgust and, after taking another ten points from Gryffindor, he left.

When the dinner was over, Harry and Ron played the last chess game of the year. Harry lost and let his forehead fall on the chessboard, the queen piercing his ear with a tiny sword as she tried to shove him away. Hermione had fallen asleep on the sofa while reading a muggle book.

He was expecting Ron to say something, probably bringing up the matter of Sirius once again, or ask Harry how he was planning to spend the summer. Ron loved to hear funny stories about Dudley, and although Harry kept the worst situations well hidden from his wizarding life, some of them he could share. Next year there would be none of them, though, and Harry was positively sure that Snape wasn't going to be an enjoyable housemate either.

He sighed at the memory of Sirius promising him that they could live together someday. If Harry was a little bit smarter, if he knew how to separate the real visions from the fake hallucinations Voldemort sent to him, if only he had killed Bellatrix at the Ministry and had studied better over the year, now Sirius would be alive.

Among everything, Harry couldn't help but blame Sirius equally. His mind wandered from Kreacher to Sirius' mother and how Sirius should have stayed in the safety of the wards but instead he just sneaked out while everybody had warned him not to.

When Ron collected the chess pieces in a silent understanding, Harry sat up and nodded good night before going to bed.

* * *

The next morning everybody was in a hurry. The youngest kids were shouting and running around, searching for clothes and books that they had just realized were missing, and that there were only a few hours left before the arrival of the Hogwarts Express. The Prefects were trying to help them, while some other kids had formed a small crowd and were plotting with with fascination their last pranks.

Ron couldn't find a particular pair of shoes, so he threw _everything _out of his trunkand put them back in scattered and in round piles. Hermione caught him in the act, and she banged him with a notebook on his back, telling him that he was a swine and that she wasn't going to help him with anything, ever again.

Dean was trying to organize where everybody was going to sit on the train in order to prevent the fuss upon boarding. Luna had already collected a stack of the Quibbler's new issues in her arms, apparently hoping to sell some copies on the road, and somehow meandered her way into the boys' dormitory.

As for Harry, he watched the panicked people around him dully, fascinated with their stampede, and hadn't bothered to get up from the bed yet. He was so lost into his observation, that he was startled when Luna sat beside him and placed a Quibbler issue on his belly, patting it. "Here, it's free for you."

Harry opened it curiously and read: _Ancient Runes came from the space!_ _What Muggle scientists support and how the conspiracy was revealed. _He pretended to be flattered by her gift and gave her a forced smile. "Oh. Thanks, Luna. I'm going to read it tonight, okay?"

"You don't need to make yourself like it just now. It will find a way to amaze you in time, I'm sure of it. Have a nice summer, Harry." She left the room hopping, leaving Harry rolling his eyes.

Ron punched him on the side of his head lightly. "Are you going to wake up already or what?"

"Ouch!" Harry rubbed his temple and got up lazily. He seriously thought he would give a leg to have just another day in Hogwarts, but denying his upcoming future wasn't going to make it any better.

So he helped his friends, punching Ron back on the ribs as soon as he caught him off guard, until they fell back to the bed wrestling. Eventually Ron forced Harry's head into a pillow case and they stopped.

"How immature can you two be?" gasped Hermione from the door.

Ron chuckled. "You've no idea."

She rolled her eyes and Harry went along with them to the Great Hall before they left. Hermione hugged him tightly, giving him a soft kiss on the cheek, which caused Ron to scrunch his face up and look away. He promised them that he'll be writing to them once a week, because that was that they wanted to hear, and he smiled reassuring them that everything would be alright.

As he watched them leaving, the thestrals taking the carriages away, he suddenly felt alone, so terribly alone and empty, as if no happiness would ever find its way to his soul again, and no good memory or thought would be enough to make things okay as it did until only some time ago.

To make a proof against that, he drew out his wand and cast the Patronus charm, thinking of his Dad and Mum. A silver stag spurted out of the tip of his wand and bounced around the bushes, running away to the forest and its freedom.

Relieved, Harry licked his lips. If he was still able to conjure some tiny bits of happiness from within, he wasn't entirely lost. The stag returned soon, and shoved his head to Harry's hand demanding to be petted. The sensation wasn't exactly real, and reminded him more of water and ice than actual flesh, his fingers slipping into the strange substance.

With a heavy heart, he returned to the castle and dragged his trunk down the stairs until he reached the Headmaster's office. He sat upon his trunk and waited for Snape, drumming his wand to his knee rhythmically.

Maybe Snape was a vampire indeed after all, thought Harry as he remembered Snape's pale skin. He could have a dungeon full of dead bodies, drinking their blood slowly at nights and now he'd lock Harry in a cell as well, and make him watch as he'd fly around in his bat form, randomly picking his victims before attacking them.

Harry shuddered. He wasn't sure he could survive a whole summer drinking nothing but human blood.

"Potter."

Harry looked up. "Um."

His utterance was met with an arched eyebrow. "I beg your pardon?"

"Um. Yes. Morning."

"Not anymore, unless you have completely lost your touch with reality. It's two in the afternoon."

"Oh. Alright."

Snape looked annoyed already, and his own denial about the situation was written all over his face.

"We are going to use the Floo network from the Headmaster's office which will transport us near my home. You are not permitted to talk to anybody but me, and if you disobey that you will face the consequences. Am I clear, Potter?"

He pointed his wand at Harry and Harry had no time to protect himself when a spell hit him and he fell to the ground on his arse. Confused, he looked around until he realized that the charm wasn't directed at him, and he put the now shrunk trunk into the pocket of his jeans.

Snape smirked down at Harry, who quickly stood up. Dumbledore greeted them cheerfully, but both of them responded with a grim face.

"My boys, are you ready for your summer? I'm sure you'll do wonderfully!" He clapped his hands twice and Harry noticed Snape's wand hand twitching around thin air.

"Thank you, Headmaster. Please do keep your own vacations less adventurous than intended." And with that quizzical comment Snape activated the Floo.

"Do I seem like I have all day, Potter?" he spat.

Harry glanced at Dumbledore sadly but walked over to Snape, his feet heavily brushing the carpet. Even facing Voldemort would be a less ghastly task to do, Harry thought as Snape wrapped his hand around his and squeezed.

"Ready?"

Harry nodded, and suddenly the office was gone.

They landed on a small pub, and they stepped out of the fireplace. Snape released his hand as soon as the swirling was gone, and Harry brushed his own on his shirt, as though to wipe off the touch. Then he took a look around, curiously. The place was a traditional alehouse, with six hand pumps serving beers across the counter.

It seemed rustic, with scrubbed floorboards and small tables all around and there were no TV's or Gaming machines either, which indicated that the place was only for wizards. A man greeted Snape upholding his beer. "Severus – at last, man! Who's that boy – home teachings now, are you?"

Harry kept his head down, hoping that no one would notice his scar, and the man was met with a deadly glare from Snape as they walked past him. Next thing Harry knew, he was standing in a dark neighborhood with two endless rows of houses. He wondered if they were far from central London, plans to sneak his way away from Snape already forming inside his mind.

"Follow me."

Harry followed the thin fog and the muddy street making him uneasy. The edges of Snape's robes were dipped into the mud too, wetting their edges, as their feet made a plopping sound against the ground with every step their feet took.

Apparently it was raining only a few hours ago, the scent of the rain and the moisture still in the air. Harry read a sign nailed on a brick wall on his left: _Spinner's End._

"Where are we?" he asked.

"Are you incapable or reading?"

"No, I mean – where exactly?"

Snape glared at him wryly for a moment. "Northern England."

"Oh. So you're spending your summers here?"

"Usually," Snape looked ahead as they walked.

"I didn't know you had a house of your own," Harry admitted. He shoved his hands into his sweatshirt to warm them up.

Snape scoffed. "So, using your endless wittiness, you cleverly reached the conclusion that I'm a clochard."

"A what?" Harry's eyebrows rose to his hairline.

"A homeless."

"Oh. No, I just thought that you stayed in Hogwarts, you know." _Since you don't really seem to have a life_, he almost added.

Snape didn't answer.

A horrid thought crossed Harry's mind.

"Do you live alone?" If Snape had a girlfriend and Harry was forced to live with both of them, he'd become a kosherd of his own, he decided.

"Not anymore, Potter. Obviously."

Oh. Right. As accustomed as he was with being unwanted, Harry couldn't help the awkwardness that overwhelmed him. It was obvious that Snape hated him, and the feeling was rather mutual.

Aunt Petunia wouldn't fumble through his brain, at least, and back in Surrey he knew that if he stayed silent and invisible for the best part of the day he would be granted with a peace of mind. Snape wasn't like that, though. Harry had no idea how Snape was.

They reached a small house which looked like the others around it, and Snape crossed the small yard, taking out a bunch of keys. As soon as the door was opened, a smell of musty air hit Harry's nostrils and Harry realized the place must have not been inhabited for a long time.

The door led to a tiny sitting room and Snape begun opening the shutters immediately, causing the daylight to stream in, bringing into sight clouds of dust that filled the room. The walls were completely covered in books, most of them bound in old black or brown leather; a threadbare sofa, an old armchair, and a rickety table stood grouped together in front of an ashy fireplace.

Snape disappeared behind a door, barking, "Stay here!"

Harry did, glancing around inquisitively. There was no central hallway to the house, and the living room had only three doors to connect with the rest of it. The first one was hiding a staircase, of which Snape had gone up, the second one was locked, and the third one led to a kitchen.

Harry noticed the sink over the half-opened door, and pushed it further open. It was a small room as well, with a wooden table on the corner and two chairs under it, linked together by a silver thread of cobweb. With a sigh of relief Harry saw the fridge, and opened it, finding it completely empty.

Then opened the cabinets, one by one, finding plates, glasses, and some pots and pans, along with an empty box of biscuits. He took it out and threw it to the trash bin under the sink; checked the faucet's function, searched for sharp kitchen knives he could use just in case, and found a box with a basic sewing set and a small pouch with black buttons.

"Are you through sticking your nose where it doesn't belong, Potter?" Snape stood in the door, holding his dirtied cloak in a pile, and unbuttoning the first buttons of his coat. With a motion of his hand the drawer closed hard and Harry barely had time to draw his fingers away.

"I'll do laundry in half an hour and that will be for my own clothes only. You can wash yours when I'm done with it and I assure you, if you leave anything behind I will burn it."

"Then I'll just have to walk around naked, I guess."

Before Harry knew it, Snape had grasped him by the shirt front and pushed him to a wall violently, his breath inches from his face.

"I will say this once, you insolent brat, and you'd better listen carefully. This isn't Hogwarts nor your cozy Gryffindor House in which no one ever bothered to teach you how to show respect. Unluckily for you, Dumbledore doesn't have time to wipe your arse and protect you from all the evil of the world anymore, so do yourself a favor and behave. You will not talk back to me, you will not annoy me, and for the time being, Potter, you will— "

"Pretend I don't exist. I know."

Snape blinked.

"Anything else, _sir_?"

Snape unclutched Harry's shirt and stepped back.

"Yes, Potter. If you somehow deemed that you will spend your days here idly lazing and heavenly sleeping until noon, you have been sorely mistaken. Lunch is always served at one o'clock and dinner at eight; be late and you will not eat at all. We will practice Occlumency from six to seven. You are expected to do your focus exercises every day before our lessons, otherwise I will not hesitate to kick you out and let you sleep in the streets. You are not permitted to leave the house without my accompaniment and you will not touch any of my belongings without permission. If you do so, I'll know." He arched an eyebrow, waiting.

Harry shrugged.

"Now, follow me."

They climbed up the small staircase and it cricked with every step, leading them to a small hallway with another three doors.

Snape opened the first one and Harry walked in. The room was small, and except from a single bed in the far end of it and a small nightstand, it was rather empty too.

Some selves were nailed to the walls but no books or other items were placed upon them; a closet with several drawers was near the bed, and the curtains on the window were shredded. Harry wondered if this was Snape's room when he was a child, sure that many years must have passed since the last time someone had slept in here.

He took out his trunk and restored it to its normal size. Snape considered the room for a moment.

Then, "The bathroom is at the far end of the hallway. The other door leads to my own bedroom, which you will never enter despite your childish curiosity. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Yes _sir."_

"Yes, sir."

"Excellent."

Harry heard the bang of the door closing behind him and took off his glasses, falling to the bed face down and breathing his tension off. Excellent.

* * *

**Author's Notes: Please let me know what you think about the story. I love reviews. **


	4. Accommodating

**Author's notes:**

Although I have uploaded only a few chapters so far, my Word document version of this story has already reached two hundred pages and I'm still writing. Since this is getting bigger than I had ever intended it to be, I changed the story's title form "A Better Fate Than Wisdom" to "A Better Fate Than Wisdom I: The Syntax of Things", taking into account that this is the first book to what is going to be a trilogy. I owe the inspiration to all my reviewers - so please, keep me happy.

* * *

Chapter Three: Accommodating

Harry rubbed his eyes lazily. The morning light penetrated the thin fabric of the curtains and filled the room, dim but enough to wake him up. He stretched and yawned, rolling onto his belly and scratching his nape.

The clock on the nightstand read eight o'clock. It was rather early, but familiar as he was to his Hogwarts work hours, he didn't feel like sleeping again. Putting his glasses on, he blinked and stared at the grey wall; the shadow – like shapes shifted and danced.

Considering that this was the first night sleeping under the same roof with Snape, it wasn't as bad as he had imagined it. After settling in, Snape had left him alone and had locked himself into his bedroom until dinner time.

They met again in the kitchen, when Harry had already tidied his new room.

"We will begin your lessons tomorrow," Snape informed him as they ate. "I suggest you clear your mind before bedtime, and make a habit out of it for the rest of the summer."

Harry had tried to, but random thoughts kept popping into his mind just as they had the previous year at Hogwarts. Just when he'd start relaxing, he'd imagine Dudley's disappointment when they'd tell him Harry wasn't going back to Surrey this year. His gang would have already begun organizing new ways of bullying him around, and with Harry's absence Dudley would feel really exposed to them.

He knew that Uncle Vernon would at least be the most happy of them all. He'd have no reason to shout and yell anymore, or to endure the sight of owls and wands where Dudley's second room should have been.

Without him in the house, the Dursleys would happily state that they were perfectly normal again, and Aunt Petunia wouldn't need to cook food for an extra person.

Speaking of which, Harry's stomach growled. After going through his morning routine, he noiselessly went down to the kitchen, realizing that Snape hadn't woken up yet. The fridge was still empty, so he poured some water into a glass and went upstairs again.

Delving into his trunk, he found some biscuits Hermione had given him a week ago and began chewing on one as he wandered around the house.

He pushed the third door on the living room – and found it still locked.

"_Alohomora,_" he tried.

Nothing.

"_Dissendium._"

Nothing.

He peeped into the key hole but it was too dark to make out anything. Moving to the books, Harry pulled out the largest one and read: Hunting Werewolves.

He opened a random page. Two sentences had been underlined with red ink, with a note saying _show Dumbledore_ on top of it.

_Although humane-like when away from the moonlight and between the lunar cycles, the species of werewolves are considered creatures far from the humane kind. It is known that common wizard and Muggle emotions cannot be experienced in their full dimension from beasts and other dangerous creatures; it remains feasible though for those emotions to be exceptionally well feigned._

Harry closed the book annoyed. The next books he opened concerned mostly potions, and some of them were about history analyses and psychological facts. The ones with titles resembling Dark Magic were blank inside, or couldn't be opened at all.

Tiptoeing his way to Snape's room, he slowly pulled on the door handle and peered in. Snape was sleeping on his belly, his face hidden under a big pillow. He was half covered with a duvet, his grey nightshirt pulled up to reveal a hairy leg.

Opening the door a little further Harry saw Snape's desk, and wondered if the key for the locked door was there. He lifted his wand.

"_Accio keys,_" he whispered.

Many sounds occurred instantly. Drawers opened, while pens and other objects fell to the floor and rolled. Bunches of keys slid and flew to his hands. Harry recognized the heavier bunch as the one Snape had used to unlock the outdoor yesterday, and along with them he now had in his hands a handful of some suitcase keys, a big golden key that looked rather fake, a link with the Hogwarts crest on it, and a smaller bunch with keys for drawers or cabinets.

"Wicked," he whispered.

"Wicked," repeated Snape.

He had sat up on the bed, but the only thing that betrayed that he had just woken up was his really messed up hair. His eyes promised death.

"Um. Good morning?" Harry tried.

"It's a bad morning, Potter." Kicking the duvet over, he strode towards Harry and yanked the keys from his hand. "I do not take defrauding from anyone, and I will certainly not take it from you. However intelligent you might believe it is what you are doing, it is not, and I assure you that pushing my buttons is not a game you can win. For the last time. Behave."

Harry could almost sense a_ please_ in Snape's voice.

His stomach growled again. "The fridge is empty and actually isn't working at all; do you hide your food elsewhere? I have cookies of course, but I guess I won't have them for much longer. Want one?"

He offered him the small box and Snape looked at him with narrowed eyes, as though he was inspecting a venomous bleeding cockroach. "You are unbelievable."

Harry shrugged his shoulders in an "it depends" way. Snape threw the keys to his bed and went to the wardrobe.

"Close the damned door and go dress up. The market is ten minutes from here and I wish to get done with it now that it's early and hasn't gathered neighbors yet."

Harry felt his fingers clutching harder around the biscuit box in nervousness. "What if someone recognizes me?"

"Don't be stupid. You are under spells that forbid passengers to notice you."

Was he? Harry nodded, closed the door, and went to change his clothes.

* * *

The market wasn't far from the house indeed, and it resembled a lot the suburban market back in Little Whinging. Harry and Snape both grabbed the same basket, and fought over it for a few seconds. Snape won with a sneer, and Harry took another.

When they separated though, Harry didn't know what to put inside. He didn't have any money with him, and didn't know if Snape was going to buy him something that wasn't necessary. He walked to the sweets' corridor, and picked up a cheerios box and a new box of biscuits. Then he chose a cheap orange juice and a mixed one.

Dawdling around the gum packs and the large fridges, he noticed the newspapers' bench and approached it, noticing that it had some Muggle cook books, financial newspapers, and just behind them, porn magazines. Harry stared for a moment and went back to the sweets.

He met Snape at the cash desk, and realized that the man had made a rather wiser choice of products than Harry had. His basket had meat, pastas, bottles of water and milk, eggs, vegetables and some other stuff too.

Hesitantly, Harry put his own basket on the cash desk, but surprisingly Snape didn't argue. When they returned at Snape's home, Harry helped him store the food.

"Your living room is soaked in dust," said Harry. "With all these books and stuff that you have in there it's going to gather termites. Happened in my cousin's room, once."

Snape didn't answer.

"Don't you care that your house is filthy?" pressed Harry, his voice bitter on purpose. This place resembled an asylum. A small and dark one, precisely.

"No."

"Do you have parents?" Why had he asked that?

A pause. "No."

"Oh." Harry's mind drifted to the memory of the crying child he had seen once in Snape's mind, while Snape's parents were fighting and shouting to each other.

They made soup; it was awful, but they ate it in silence. Snape retired to his room shortly after it, warning Harry that he'd better do the same.

Harry washed the dishes and cleaned the table, trying to clear his mind as he worked. His scar hadn't bothered him since the battle of the Ministry, but he knew that the throbbing pain would return once Voldemort grew angry with something or someone again.

Considering his upcoming Occlumency lessons, this was the worst time to think about Sirius. It didn't matter; Snape was going to see all the memories that could make him vulnerable before him.

He could do nothing about it. His skills at blocking Snape out of his mind were poor, and Snape was a master at Legilimency.

Washing his hands and leaving the vetex aside, he locked himself into his bedroom. He couldn't concentrate for the life of him, and to prevent himself from thinking, he slept.

* * *

A bang was heard outside his door and Harry jumped up.

"Potter!" Snape barked.

"Yes! Just a minute!"Harry ran to the door, still a bit light headed from his sleeping, and crashed right on Snape's sternum.

He backed up embarrassed, and looked up at what he hoped to be a neutral face. Before he had time to say something clever, Snape had already gone downstairs. Right. Now Harry was making a fool of himself too.

Biting his lips he followed, wand at hand. Once he reached the living room, Snape turned to face him.

"Although I am sure that you completely ignored my instructions to learn how to clear your mind, it is the Headmaster's wish that we continue this farce."

How was he supposed to _learn_ it on his own? Harry nodded.

"When sleeping, your mind gets relaxed and thus becomes vulnerable to external penetration. You should remember that in the future. Now, do you even remember what Occlumency is?"

It occurred to Harry that Snape looked tired too. It wasn't the known kind of physical exhaustion, or even mental, but a hazy vanity was surrounding his silhouette all the same. Yet, his face was as controlled as always.

"It's going to help me block Voldemort out of my mind," Harry said impatiently.

"Occlumency is an ancient art, which has existed since medieval times. It can prevent a trained Legilimens from accessing one's thoughts and feelings. A person who practices this art is known as an Occlumens, and his abilities to master it must be at least highly outstanding."

The fact that Harry's abilities were horrible was left unsaid.

"Well, I've no talent at it." As Harry was expecting, these lessons were going to make Snape furious, although he never understood why it had always had to happen so quickly.

Snape's face lines deepened as he scoffed. "You've no talent? Is this your new excuse to spare yourself the remorse, Potter? Is your lack of, as you say it, talent, making you sleep easier at nights?"

Harry shook his head but Snape didn't stop.

"Had you tried in the least to focus while I was training you this year, the Dark Lord wouldn't have planted visions in that fool head of yours. I had warned you that this would happen and yet you completely neglected to follow my orders." Snape took out his wand, his fingers slowly sliding over it.

"That's not true, you were the one who kicked me out in the middle of the year! I was trying!"

"The results indicate so."

Harry bit back a curse and squeezed his fist. "Don't you dare bring Sirius into this." His heart was racing; he couldn't remember getting this angry since Sirius' death. His vision sparkled.

"Why not? Afraid to face the truth?"

Something inside his sternum exploded. "Well, maybe you suck as a teacher at it, and that's why you blame me instead. If we had continued the lessons Sirius would—"

"We do continue them, Potter._ Legilimens_!"

Old memories came to the surface of Harry's mind and he was unable to keep them back. Snape vanished from his vision, and he was now running away from Dudley, seeing his friends chasing him, shouting names… Sirius was falling behind the veil, slowly disappearing as Bellatrix's shattering laughter echoed around… Ron was begging Hermione to let him copy her essay, in front of the fireplace in the common room…

Harry gasped and leaned forward. He had dropped to his knees, steadying himself with his hands on the carpet. He looked up, to see Snape sneering at him.

"Nonexistent progress. Why didn't you fight me?" Snape asked coolly.

"I don't – I wasn't expecting it," Harry spat, getting up from the floor.

"I thought so." Snape was watching him closely. "Close your eyes for me."

Sighing, Harry did.

"What do you feel?" Snape asked. His voice was coming closer, and Harry's instinct warned him to step back.

"Nothing specific," Harry responded.

"Don't lie to me, Potter. Again. What do you feel?" Snape was walking around Harry, his steps heavy.

"Anger," he said as he tried to determine Snape's location in the room.

"Anger."

Harry swallowed. "Yes."

"Fear?"

He wasn't going to admit that. "No. I just don't want you inside my head."

"Let go of all emotions. Clear your thoughts from the weaknesses that dominate you." Snape stopped in front of him.

Harry shifted nervously. He was not being _dominated_ by _weaknesses_. He was far stronger than Snape was, because he at least knew how to make the right decisions, and because he'd never fuck up his life that much – he'd never kneel before a murder and kiss his hem, he'd never admire a monster for his power and his control over the defenceleess, he'd never inflict harm on those he loved, no matter the motivations behind the actions.

Only he had.

And those he loved were all dying, one after another. And this was no one's fault but Harry's.

"_Legilimens!_"

A woman was screaming, and her cries echoed inside his ears, shuttering with pain and fear and confusion, and Harry felt the Dementor taking his breath away, taking his voice, his vision, his life… Dumbledore twinkled an eye at him and Harry smiled, running to catch up with Ron and Hermione… The snitch was right there, all he had to do was come closer – right there – just a little bit – too fast…

"You're not trying, Potter."

Harry was barely listening as he panted hard. "I've told you I'm trying! If you don't tell me how to do it I'll never make it! What do you expect from me? Figure it out by accident while you just stand there and watch?"

Snape yanked Harry's shirt and got him to his feet. "You are weak. You cannot block me if you don't try—"

Harry tried to free his shoulder. "Stop calling me that! Why don't you just explain to me how I do it?"

Losing his patience, Harry dug his short nails into Snape's wrist to force him take off his hand. Snape did, and he scowled at the marks Harry had left for a moment.

"We will try again. Concentrate." Snape raised his wand. "One— Two— _Legilimens_!"

Harry raised his own wand too now, and cast the only spell he knew would help him.

"_Protego_!"

Harry's mind teemed with a new series of memories he could not recognize as his own. Having done this again, he gathered himself and searched for the memories he wanted. Having less than a couple of seconds to make this work, he focused and thought of his mother.

A teenage Snape was running at Hogwarts corridors with a red haired girl… Snape was in Hogsmeade, drinking a hot cup of something with the same girl, whom was taking a sip from his cup…

He was slammed against the wall with such force his breath was plucked from his lungs. Sliding to the floor, a painful gasp escaped his lips and looked up at Snape, who glared back with menace.

They looked at each other some more, Harry not daring to move.

"You are not to use this charm again, you understand?" Snape seemed paler than usual, but his temper was all gone.

Harry considered it, a million questions to his lips. He feared that if he spoke even the simplest of them, Snape would start shouting again.

"We will continue tomorrow. In the meantime…" Snape pulled a book out of a shelf using his index finger, and gave it to Harry. "It will help you get rid of emotion."

"But I don't want to get rid of emotion," argued Harry, struggling back to his feet.

"You must."

Snape avoided eye contact, and Harry ran upstairs.

* * *

**Author's notes:** Please let me know what you think.


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